


Incubator

by thedropoutandthejunkie (elenajames)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Sam, Cursed Dean, Eggpreg, Giving Birth, M/M, Mpreg, Other, Self Insemination, Tentacle Rape, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:19:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4633689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elenajames/pseuds/thedropoutandthejunkie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SPN Kink Meme Fill: As the result of witch's spell Dean turns into a tentacle monster and keeps Sam as a breeder for his offspring...Only bottom!Sam please.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Incubator

_Run,_ Sam thinks faintly. _I should run._

 

The amorphous thing that used to be his brother has him backed against the wall, limbs waving ominously. There are openings, Sam could bolt, but he’s frozen in place, caught between the instinct to protect himself and the inability to leave Dean behind. It’s no wonder there’d been no bodies to find on this case, not if all of them met the same fate that -

 

No. Sam shakes himself mentally, eyeing the once-Dean creature. He’ll run, get out of here, come back for his brother and fix this. Somehow. But for now he has to get away, and hope that Dean will forgive him when it’s all said and done.

 

Two steps toward the door. That’s all the further Sam makes it before he’s yanked backward into the roiling mass of tentacles. They bind him up like a straightjacket, holding him tight enough that he loses his breath quickly, sight flickering at the lack of oxygen. He’s on the verge of blacking out when they loosen, just enough to let air into his lungs, but not enough to move the rest of his body at all.

 

The room is silent save for his harsh breathing, the witch long gone into the upper floors of the building. All the other rooms down here, he knows, are filled with other creatures like his brother.

 

 _No one to hear me scream,_ Sam thinks giddily. And wouldn’t that be ironic. Dying at the hands of his own brother-turned-monster somewhere no one would ever look. Fuck.

 

Carefully, he flexes his arms and legs, but Dean only squeezes him tighter, forcing him still. It’s a while before either of them move and Sam’s startled to find the tentacles around his legs loosening. He kicks out when they’ve drawn mostly away, but he’s still wrapped from neck to waist and the effort is mostly futile. His jeans are wrenched off, boxers too, limbs coiling around his ankles to still him when he starts to struggle again. The process is repeated with his jacket and shirt, clothing tossed carelessly aside.

 

He’s left stark naked, stretched out on a bed of smooth flesh, bound wrist and ankle by unnaturally strong tentacles. Tentacles that belong to what used to be Dean. Tentacles that are being joined by others that pet his skin, leaving trails of slick in their wake. One skates over his mouth, and he snaps at it, but it whips out of reach. It curves up in front of him, looking very much like an angry snake. Solid blows land on each cheek, leaving Sam seeing stars. He has to blink to clear his vision and the tentacle is still there in front of his face. Slowly, it moves closer, tapping his mouth again, and there’s a soft hum that seems to come from all around when Sam doesn’t try to bite it again.

 

The tentacle taps again. Tentatively, Sam opens his mouth and the hum gets a little louder. Pushing in, the tentacle swipes over his tongue, teasing back just enough to trigger his gag reflex and holding there until he’s breathed through the involuntary reaction. It pulls back out then, wiping gently over his lips.

 

All of the other appendages had halted their movements once Sam had been slapped, but they moved back into motion now. Skidding over his nipples, tracing over his abs and cock and sac. Thicker ones rub over the ridge of the tendon beneath his arms and caress the tender insides of his thighs. Every single one leaves cool liquid in its wake and goosebumps break out along every trail. It’s a sharp contrast to the heat building under Sam’s skin.

 

Groaning in protest, he drops his head back when one tentacle wends its way around his cock. No stroking, just a tight hold that would be awesome in any other situation. Yanking with arms and legs, Sam jerks and writhes, struggling to get away. Instead, Dean - no, no, this is _not_ his brother - stretches him out further, until his joints are screaming in pain and a couple have popped loudly.

 

“Sorry, sorry, fuck I’m sorry-” he babbles desperately, sure he’s a moment away from being ripped apart. As though the monster understands, the pull lessens and Sam sinks back with a relieved sigh.

 

It seems, though, that he’s used up what little patience the creature has. A swift slap across the face makes him cry out, leaving room for a trio of tentacles to shove into his mouth. Two wedge between his teeth, stiffening so he can’t bite down. The other pours liquid out until he has to choke and risk aspirating it, or swallow. The choice, he thinks, is obvious.

 

The rest of the tentacles go after skin, playing over his nipples and cock, fondling his balls and shoving between his cheeks. Sam flushes red, yelling a muffled denial around the limbs in his mouth. Not that it helps. A thick tendril shoves its way into him, cold and slick and _burning_ because he’s never taken anything that wide. Tears roll down his temples as he’s impaled, sure that something will tear because the tentacle is just too big to be fucking him without prep. Cause that’s surely what it’s doing: rocking out and deeper in each time, forcing him wider and wider. The cold of the smooth flesh makes his insides ache and cramp, leaving him whimpering.

 

Pain has left his erection flagging, and, once the tentacle in his ass has stopped moving deeper, the one wrapped around his length starts working him back to hardness. Two little ones cup and caress his balls, a third teasing just behind to lap and press at his perineum. Getting hard, getting aroused, is utterly horrifying.  

 

It’s even worse when the tentacle in his ass resumes fucking him. Long drags along his prostate coupled with with the rest of the stimulation makes him moan. Sam feels dread curl alongside pleasure when he realizes it won’t take him long to come. Bunching and curling, twisting and stroking, the tentacles work him faster and harder. Another one latches on to the tip of his cock like a cool mouth, suckling in rhythm with the movements of the rest. One hard thrust and squeeze, and Sam comes with a defeated groan, spilling into the waiting tentacle on his cock.

 

The ones around his limbs tighten then, and Sam panics at the feel of something larger being pushed into his ass. He can barely tilt his head up, but it’s enough to see the bulges spaced out along the length of the tentacle inside him, slowly drifting downward to be forced inside. One after another, until there’s a bulge between his hips and an ache in his pelvis from the stretch. Only then does the appendage attached to his cock let go, and Sam watches in shock as it moves down to push in next to the other.

 

Insemination. This once-Dean creature laid it’s eggs in him - because that’s undoubtedly what they are - and is using his own come to inseminate them. He’s being _bred_. The thought paired with the roiling in his gut as the tentacles move around, spreading his own seed _inside of him_ makes him retch.

 

Quickly, the tentacles yank out of his mouth and he’s flipped so he can vomit on the stone floor. He heaves until he’s empty, and  then a few more times because he can’t stop. Panting, Sam moans miserably. It’s only then he realizes that one tentacle is brushing back his hair, slicking it away from his face. It makes him ache, reminds him of -

 

“Dean?” he rasps pitifully. He gets a gentle tap on his face in answer, a sweep of his hair to secure a stray lock behind his ear, and then the thing is cupping his face. No.

 

No way.

 

“Dean, let - let me go,” Sam whispers. Two taps. No then. The low whine Sam lets out sends the tentacle back to stroking, and he’s rearranged on his back, cradled again, but with his limbs laid out straight rather than spread eagle.

 

“Why?” he can’t help but ask, opening his eyes. No taps this time, just the tentacle waving in front of him. He’ll be damned if it doesn’t look unsure. Then, it snakes downward, brushing lightly over the slight bulge of his belly.

 

“More. She wanted more, but for what?” Not that he expects an answer. Sam is weak, worn out, and ready to sleep for as long as . . . Dean will let him. Part of him is glad his brother still recognizes him. It might be easier to negotiate with something that remembers him in some way. That seems to care, at least a little. It’s better than dealing with an unknown creature, but not by much. He’s still been fucked and bred by his brother, after all.

 

Dean sets up a humming, similar to before, and Sam lets his brain trick him into thinking it’s Metallica, so he can drift off to sleep. He wakes blearily, thrashing until Dean locks him back down, cock spurting even though the only tentacle touching it is the one sucking down his come. Another is in his ass, working his prostate until he’s dry and cocksore.  That come is pushed inside him, too. Sam decides it’s better to sleep.

 

The next few days are spent much the same: being pumped full of what he figures now is a nutrient, to keep him healthy and able to cope with the pregancy; being fucked and sucked and a few more eggs are actually squeezed in him. His belly starts to truly bulge after the first two days, and there are visible twitches and shifts in it by the third.

 

His belly is rolling when he wakes again on the fifth day, and Dean’s shifted him so his legs are spread high and wide, arms crossed over his chest. Sam yells as something pushes against his hole, something wanting _out_ and it doesn’t take it long to get there. There’s a sick plop as the newborn hits the floor, and it lets out an agitated, high-pitched buzz. More follow in a rush, some small and quick, others so large they stretch Sam even wider. He has no idea how many there are, only that the process seems to go on forever. Other tentacles push at his belly, forcing the little ones out  and filling the room with noise. Below him, Dean hums in a pleased tone.

 

Sam comes at some point. He can’t help it, not being stretched open over and over again, not when there are hundreds of little limbs sliding over and around his prostate. By the end, he’s clammy and wrung out, shivering in Dean’s hold. Gentle limbs stroke his cheeks  in an attempt to soothe, so Sam allows himself to drift.

 

Somewhere along the way, the babies must be collected by the witch. The chattering is gone, leaving only Dean’s discontented sounds behind. Sam sighs when that thick tentacle shoves in him again, knowing he’ll only be bred again. He wonders how many times it will take before Dean loses the instinct to keep going . . . . or if he ever will. Accepting the feeding tentacle in his mouth, Sam shoves that thought aside. He’s too weak from giving birth to think about it right now. And maybe, just maybe, a little too empty, as well.

 

 


End file.
